


Red

by WaitingForMy



Series: Imaginary Friend [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut, forgive me Father for I have sinned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 00:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14630009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingForMy/pseuds/WaitingForMy
Summary: While housesitting for your parents, you come face to face with your childhood imaginary friend. Unfortunately, your imaginary friend was also the monster underneath your bed.





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> Been working on this for a while. It's the first smut I've written by myself, so I'd love to hear your comments/questions/concerns. Hope y'all sewer rats enjoy!

As far as you were concerned, Derry, Maine was a shithole and always would be. The moment you turned eighteen, you bolted and never looked back. You got a cheap studio apartment and a roommate you didn’t totally despise and thanked your lucky stars you escaped.

A few years later, your parents asked you to housesit.

You knew, reasonably, that you couldn’t avoid it forever. Eventually, one of the few friends from school you kept in touch with would get married and invite you, and you’d feel bad saying no. Eventually, your parents would want _you_ to come visit _them_ , instead of the other way around. It was unavoidable, but you still flipped off the _Welcome to Derry!_ sign as you drove by.

Your parents had already gone, leaving you with the key under the mat and instructions to feed the cat and water the plants. “He’s a recluse,” your mother said of the cat. “You won’t even see him.” Fair enough, you’d just enjoy some alone time in your childhood bedroom.

It was exactly how you left it, and the sight, the _smell_ , of it left you feeling...guilty? You sat down on the bed and ran your hand over the quilt. It felt exactly like you remembered. It felt like home.

You had arrived in Derry in the evening, so after making sure the cat - if the cat even existed - had food and water, you took a shower, threw your hair up into a messy bun, and put on your ugliest, comfiest sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. You were just about to climb into bed. Your hand was on the quilt, ready to turn it down, when you felt something, like an itch. Were you forgetting something? Had you locked the door? You sighed. Better to be safe than sorry. You plodded down the stairs on your bare feet and checked the door. Locked.

You sighed again, smoothing your hand over your messy hair. You were probably just feeling weird about being back in this stupid town. You made your way back up to your room, closing the door behind you lest the mysterious cat try to wake you up in the morning. Turning back to your bed, a memory stirred that made you chuckle. You had been _convinced_ that there was a monster under your bed, when you were six. You even checked once, and you ran screaming into your parents’ room and swore up and down you saw a pair of glowing, yellow eyes, down there. Through the fog of sleep, your dad had yawned, “Try talking to it; maybe it wants to be your friend.” And that was how you made your first imaginary friend. What had you called him? It was a very silly name.

You laughed out loud, when you remembered. “Ah, Pennywise the Dancing Clown.” You could even picture him, in your head; he was tall and lanky, with fiery orange hair and a silver and red costume with frills and bells. His eyes changed between blue, yellow, and red, depending on his mood. You smiled. You had such an active imagination.

But it had all felt so real! You could still picture the glowing eyes beneath your bed as if you’d seen them yesterday. You decided to look just for kicks. You got on your hands and knees and peered into the darkness. Nothing but darkness, at first. But then...

Your body reacted before you did, when the same yellow eyes you saw when you were six opened, illuminating your astonished face. You shrieked and pushed against the floor with your arms, propelling you back over your legs until you landed on your bottom. You scrambled backwards as a nightmare slithered out from under your bed and unfolded itself - himself? - before you. You surged backwards and it surged forwards until your back hit the wall and you screamed.

Memories you didn’t know you had snapped into place like a rubber band. It was clear to you now, through the cruelly clear lense of adulthood, that the murders, the disappearances, and the stories from your youth were all connected, and they all led back to your imaginary friend, who crouched over you now like a spider trapping an insect.

“P- P- P-”

“P- P- P-” he mocked. “Pennywise! Ha- _ha!”_

He was so close, hovering over you, you could feel his breath on your face, and he spat on you when he talked.

He smiled cheerfully, and you could almost believe he was honestly thrilled to see you. “ _Hi-_ ya, [Y- _N]!_ ”

You shook your head. “You’re not real.”

His eyes went yellow, and his smile slowly, calculatedly, wilted. “Not real?” His hand shot out as fast as a snake striking and his large, gloved hand wrapped tightly around your throat, completely cutting off your air supply. “This isn’t real enough for you?” he hissed into your ear, so close you could feel his tongue flick against your skin as he spoke.

You panicked, and then you panicked harder, because you knew he could smell your fear, but he didn’t react the way you expected. He didn’t sink his teeth into your skin and tear the muscle from the bone. He didn’t so much as utter a laugh. He pulled his hand back as if he had been burned, and you coughed painfully as black and blue blood began to pool beneath your skin in the shape of his hand.

“Are you going to kill me?” you manage to wheeze through your crushed windpipe.

His eyes returned to blue just before he closed them. He nuzzled his face against yours, and you instinctively returned the gesture. It was something you had done when you were six.

“Special girl,” he murmured. “Not afraid. Friendly. Affectionate. Not afraid.”

For the first time, it occurred to you that your dad had likely saved your life, by suggesting that the monster underneath your bed just wanted to be your friend. You hadn’t been afraid. You had been

“My only friend.” Pennywise placed a firm kiss against your temple. “Special girl. Not afraid. Not afraid.”

He used to sleep in your bed, with you curled up against his chest. He was warm, but his silk costume was cool, and he was big, and you were small, and you felt safe. Even now, he was much bigger than you, but his presence no longer brought with it the guise of safety.

You couldn’t believe it, now that you were older. He had _cared_ for you. When Tammy Mosby and Charlotte McDonald bullied you and pushed you off the playground, he rinsed your skinned knees with clean water and wrapped them in cotton. Your parents didn’t question you when you told them Pennywise did it, and it didn’t strike you as odd that Tammy and Charlotte were the next to go missing. When a man in a truck pulled up in front of your house while you were playing in the yard and tried to talk to you, Pennywise’s buck teeth became sharp and he chased the man away. When you were sad, Pennywise would dance for you and make you laugh. He left when you were seven, but not before hugging you tight and giving you a balloon. “It’s time for Ol’ Pennywise to float like a balloon for a while, but I’ll miss you.” This vile, monstrous, murderous creature had done all that for you.

His only friend.

It was different, now. You were aware, now. You knew what he was. The things he did, you couldn’t forgive.

“Welcome back to Derry, [YN]!” he giggled. “Come to play with your old ‘imaginary’ friend?”

“No,” you asserted. “I’m done with you, Pennywise. I’m a grown-up, now.”

He giggled again, so mischievously you doubted the devil himself could sound more evil. That, of course, was assuming Pennywise was _not_ the devil himself. You weren’t entirely sure. He leaned in close to your face, so close your noses were touching. You could smell the sweetness of cotton candy stained with the metallic taste of blood on his breath. “Well then,” he said, “we play like grown-ups.”

“I’m not here to play with you!”

He pouted his red-painted lips. “Well, isn’t that a shame,” he crooned, pout twisting into a grin, “because _I’m_ here to play with _yoouuu._ ”

He forced his lips against yours. They were soft, much softer than you expected from a creature such as him, and their taste reminded you of powdered sugar and lemonade and those rides at the circus that spin you so fast your head hurts and you can’t see straight. He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth and rolled it in his teeth, causing you to whimper in pleasure as much as in fear. Pennywise liked that very much. You could tell by the way his body moved, so slightly you could barely feel it, but you could hear it thanks to the bells in his costume.

He released your lip, now wet with his saliva, and brushed his lips across your cheek to your neck. You shivered, powerless to control the heat between your legs as he worked his lips and tongue over your pulse and ran one hand down your side. His hand came to rest in the valley of your waist, and his thumb brushed over your exposed stomach where your shirt had bunched up.

He growled into your neck, the vibrations radiating out through your limbs, “I know what you fear, I know what you want, I know what you love.” His grip on your waist tightened as he once again raised his lips to your ear. “You used to love me.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He was right; you had loved him fiercely, but you were only a child.

He slid the palm of his hand across your stomach and lower. “How many filthy humans have you let touch you?”

“Penny- _Oohh…_ ” You moaned as he slipped his hand beneath your sweatpants and underwear and between your legs, pressing the heel of his hand against your most sensitive part.

“How many filthy humans have you let _fuck_ you?”

You didn’t answer that.

Pennywise buried his face in the crook of your neck and drew a long breath in through his nose, smelling you, _reading_ you, all your wants, fears, hopes, and dreams.

“Fear,” he sighed. “Fear, but so much more.”

He let out a shuddering breath against your skin before pulling back, his eyes barely rimmed with red like a traffic light around his dilated pupils, watching you intensely as he slowly slid a gloved finger into you.

Sick pleasure bloomed in your stomach, and you whimpered as tears began to roll down your cheeks. Lava bled through your icy veins as the clown too slowly, too gently inserted another finger into your body.

“You used to love me,” he growled, spitting violent anger so incompatible with the soft way he moved his hands that it left you feeling split, like you were dreaming in that place between sleep and wakefulness.

“ _You_ used to love _me,_ ” you repeated weakly between rapid, deep breaths.

For a moment, he froze, red eyes dimming to embers. “ _Love_ ,” he rasped, “is nothing but the fear of loss.”

“You told me that-” Another breath. “When I was six.”

You reached out and barely brushed your fingertips against his cheek. Your heart skipped a beat, and the light behind his eyes flashed dangerously. You knew you were being brave, or perhaps stupid. You knew you were testing your luck.

“Do I scare you, Pennywise?”

He responded with an animalistic snarl, baring his sharp teeth before attacking your lips in another “kiss.” He bit your bottom lip again, but this time, he bit hard, drawing blood and a pained cry from your burning lungs. His hand between your legs curled furiously, simultaneously grinding his palm against your clit and driving his fingers deeper into you until you saw

Red. Everything was red. You saw red, heard red, tasted red, _felt_ red. Pennywise pulled your lower lip back, letting his razor-like teeth drag across flesh and leave rake marks in your mouth. Red. There was static in your brain and pain in your mouth and nausea in your stomach and pleasure in your cunt, and you knew that was what red felt like.

Then Pennywise laughed, and it was the most terrible, most beautiful, reddest sound you had ever heard and would ever hear again.

He finally released your lip from his sharp hold, and hot blood poured into your mouth, washing over your tongue and making you gag with the metallic taste. You spat, spraying the front of the clown’s costume with your blood. You feared for a moment that he would be angry, but his depraved smile told a different story.

“Do you like this, [YN]?” he asked. “Do you like playing with Ol’ Pennywise? Did you miss your old, imaginary friend?”

You shook your head, coughing as you choked on more blood.

Pennywise growled, not with anger, but with cruel amusement. “Then I’ll have to try harder.” He laughed loudly and curled his fingers against that special place inside of you that made you scream. Your hands shot forward to find purchase against his shoulders, and scream you did, slamming your head back against the wall as you came almost immediately, muscles contracting to the point of pain.

You would have loved nothing more than to crawl into your bed and die, but your old friend wasn’t done with you, yet. Not even close.

His head was tilted down, and he gazed up through his eyelashes at your torn, bloodied lips, his own lips parted slightly. His red-tinged drool dripped onto your exposed stomach, and you crushed your eyes closed in discomfort. This wasn’t how you remembered him. Not at all. This wasn’t your happy, funny, _dancing_ clown. This was a hot, cold, cruel,

_(red)_

_sexual_ predator, and you were in trouble.

You sputtered as blood filled your mouth again. It poured over your chin and onto your neck, and you felt (and heard) Pennywise shudder against you. You opened your eyes, and they met gold straight on. A pointed grin stretched slowly across the clown’s face, and you watched as his sharp teeth grew even sharper. Damn shapeshifters.

He sat back on his knees, and you fought the shiver that ran through your body as he tucked his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and pulled them off, along with your sweatpants, in one slow, fluid motion, gaze never breaking from yours, and let your legs fall one on either side of him. Leaning forward, he placed one hand on the floor by your hip to hold his weight, while the other ghosted over your stomach and up to your chest, shaking, you presumed, with the effort it took not to disembowel you there and then out of sheer habit. Sharp, black, almost reptilian claws tore through his white gloves, and your mouth fell open in a silent scream that became not so silent when he reared back, ready to strike. The strike, however, was never meant for you. Instead, Pennywise slammed his hand into the wall beside your head. Drywall cracked like bones next to your ear as his claws dug in. He cackled madly.

“Sweet [YN],” he jeered. “Such a cute little girl, such a pretty big girl.” He raised the hand that had rested by your hip and ran it over your mouth, letting your blood soak into the white fabric of his glove before holding the hand up in front of your face and wiggling his fingers. “I think red is your color.”

That hand came to rest around your throat, and Pennywise kissed you again. It was bloody and sloppy and a little bit good, then a little bit great, and suddenly skin-on-silk became skin-on-skin. _Damn shapeshifters._

“Pennywise,” you mumbled, but your train of thought stopped there. _No? Stop? Please?_

“Sshhh…” Pennywise crooned against your lips. “You like this. Yes, you do.” He snaked his hands around the backs of your thighs and pushed them towards your chest, opening your legs to him and jarring your back against the wall. You could feel the tip of his cock - human and yet inhuman. You couldn’t see it and didn’t want to - lining up against your entrance, and a new wave of hopeless sobs bubbled up and out of your bloody mouth. Pennywise’s voice changed, and he leaned in and _growled_ against the shell of your ear. “Do you want me to fuck you, [YN]? You want to get fucked by your old, _imaginary_ friend?”

You knew he had already chosen your answer.

“On the count of three, [YN]. One... _three_.”

He snapped his hips against yours, at once penetrating both your willing body and unwilling mind. Your core stung with sensation so intensely you nearly forgot how to breathe. You wanted to _scream_ . You wanted _help_.

“Let him do it,” a voice in your head you didn’t recognize begged. “Let him do it, or he’ll kill you.”

Pennywise drew his face back to meet your eyes, and you could smell your blood on his breath as he spoke. “You used to be so sweet, so innocent.” He tilted his head and grinned. “You went and got yourself dirty, [YN].” He snapped his hips forward again. “What happened to my sweet, little girl?” Again. “Did you forget-” And again. “-you belong to me? You belong to me!? _You belong to me!_ ”

He sank both his clawed hands into the wall on either side of your head and increased his pace. Your mouth fell open as your world went silent, your vision burned, and you were _screaming_ but you couldn’t hear it. All you could hear was him, and all you could feel was him, and all you could see or taste or smell was him, and everything was

( _red)_

him.

Hiccuppy sobs wracked your body in time with the clown’s thrusts as he fucked you into the wall through climax after helpless climax until climaxing _hurt_ . You wanted it to stop, and you wanted it to never end. You wanted to be free, and you wanted _him._

After what may have been seconds or may have been hours, Pennywise wrenched his right hand out of the wall and placed it over your mouth, squeezing your cheeks until his claws _pop_ -ped into your skin. The pain brought your world into focus, and you saw a mix of emotions in his eyes you shouldn’t have seen. There was lust and there was a deep, terrifying anger, but there was something else. Something he knew well but wasn’t supposed to feel.

“You... _scare_...me.”

He slid his hand around the back of your neck, leaving a hot, red bruise and five bleeding punctures in its wake, and locked his lips against yours.

It was a kiss. It was a _real_ kiss. And for that brief moment, come hell or high water, you loved each other again.

Pennywise’s entire body shuddered, and the vibration sent your body into another mind numbing climax as he reached his. He gave another few broken thrusts, pumping your cunt full of heat before pulling out and backing away, and you finally took the deep breath you hadn’t realized you so desperately needed.

Almost as soon as his skin left yours, Pennywise was fully clothed again (damn shapeshifters). He crouched a few feet away and took in the image of you, limp and covered in blood and tears, with his come leaking out from between your legs. The lust and anger left his eyes; only pure, yellow fear remained. “My only friend...” he whispered reverently.

You watched him out of corners of your eyes, too weak and sore to turn your head, as he approached again, slinking forward on his hands and knees like a cat. He nuzzled your face again. This time, you did not return the gesture, and you knew by the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly that it wasn’t lost on the clown

Your gazes locked, and almost as if you had hit rewind, he backed away and slid underneath your bed until all you could see were his glowing, yellow eyes.

His eyes closed, and you were alone in the darkness.

All at once, with a blink and a gasp as if waking up from a dream, you found yourself reclothed in your sweatpants and t-shirt. The aching in your body subsided, and you ran your tongue along the inside of your bottom lip to find no blood, no scars, nothing. All evidence of your imaginary friend was gone as suddenly as he’d appeared.

You slowly got to your feet. Were you crazy? Dreaming? Had you fallen asleep? Had it all been a very vivid hallucination?

You dashed over to your bed and nearly skidded to your knees in front of it. You searched the darkness beneath it, but only found a yellowing piece of paper. You took it in your trembling fingers. It was a picture you had drawn of you and your imaginary friend, Pennywise the Dancing Clown, when you were seven. You had given it to him as a parting gift before he disappeared.

It was drawn in red crayon.


End file.
